


Forever Yours

by kartashyov



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Age Difference, Anxiety Disorder, Class Differences, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Human Names Used, M/M, Married Couple, Mild Sexual Content, Newly Engaged, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day Fluff, is that how you spell it lol, just a bunch of dudes bein' in love and all that mushy stuff, mentions of Canada, mentions of catholicism, mild Franada, probably some language, seriously he's mentioned in two different stories but never appears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kartashyov/pseuds/kartashyov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the spirit of Valentine's Day, some couples celebrate in the best ways they know how.</p><p>A collection of one-shots for my favorite Hetalia pairs. Each pair gets a chapter. Enjoy and have a happy Valentine's Day!<br/>(Title and summary changed slightly as I tinkered around with plot ideas. No story changes though!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ti Amo, Ludwig/Ich Liebe Dich, Feli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,
> 
> I had the inspiration to write a few short one-shots based on my favorite pairs for Valentine's Day. First up is good ol' trusty Germany/Italy. In this story they are already married. Buon San Valentino/Frohlichen Valentinstag!

The walls were covered in elaborate paper hearts, an assortment of roses were arranged magnificently on the dining room table, and a selection of old Italian love songs was playing from a stereo somewhere in a distant room. Had Ludwig failed to look at his calendar that morning, he would have instantly been reminded of the date from the moment he walked into the home he shared with his husband.

Before he even had the time to sigh at the dazzling distractions, the pitter-patter of feet tumbling down the stairs caused Ludwig to whip around and face the Italian who had landed rather clumsily by his feet. Smiling endearingly up at his tall German husband, Feliciano made a soft noise of general happiness and nearly fell into Ludwig’s chest, hugging him tightly in an obvious display of affection.

“ _Guten tag, mein liebling,_ ” Ludwig patted Feliciano’s head awkwardly, never quite sure how to respond to his grandiose gestures of love. Gently nudging him off to reveal what he had been holding behind his back, the blond man exposed an extravagant box wrapped tightly in layers of gleaming red paper, holding what was likely to be a considerable amount of chocolate based on the sheer size of it.

Feliciano bounced up and down in a measure of uncontained joy, grabbing the box with childishly impatient hands and staring up at Ludwig with wide, appreciative eyes. Although it was clear he had something he wanted to say, he remained uncharacteristically silent, tilting his head to one side shyly and darting around Ludwig to dissect the box in the kitchen.

Blinking in a massive amount of confusion that not even the vowel-heavy Italian language could bring upon him, Ludwig started to question why Feliciano’s behavior was so abnormal before the realization hit him like a wave of unruly ocean water. He remembered the week previous, when he was attempting to complete some important, time sensitive work in his study when Feliciano was nearly jumping off the walls in boredom, being nothing more than a goofy nuisance during a time when Ludwig needed nothing more than peace and focus.

“So then Lovino said, ‘ _Fratello_ , don’t be so stupid, no one likes you!’ and then I started to cry but then Antonio made me churros so it was okay, and then I visited your big brother and he was being weird with Roderich so I went and took a walk in the park and I fed some baby ducks and did you know that bread is actually pretty expensive nowadays? I almost didn’t have enough money in my pocket! But when I was in the supermarket I was walking down the candy aisle because I wanted some Reber Edelnougat, even though Ferrara Torrones are much better, and I saw all the Valentine’s Day stuff and it made me think about how excited I am so I wanted to know Ludwig what do you want for Valentine’s Day?”

“I would like for you to be quiet and leave me alone,” Ludwig grumbled mostly to himself more than anything, hardly even realizing what he had just replied to, as he ran a hand through his mussed up hair and tapped the pen he was holding firmly against his desk.

“Okay, if that’s what you want! Anyway so I was feeding the ducks…” Feliciano continued for God knows how long, leaving Ludwig to only complete part of his work before deciding the only way to get rid of Feliciano would be cook him some dinner, which would silence him for at least long enough to take a siesta afterwards. He hadn’t realized that Feliciano had taken his out of context suggestion to heart, and really was sticking to a pact of self-imposed silence for the full day of Valentine’s. It was either a complete miracle or a gigantic disaster.

Although Ludwig thought briefly of telling Feliciano he was only kidding when he made the statement, he decided to stick it out partially because he wanted to see how long it took Feliciano before he gave it up. The Italian was never particularly known for keeping promises he didn’t want to make in the first place, being the first to wave the white flag the moment he felt too tired or too hungry or too lazy to see things through any farther. Ludwig typically chided such early weakness, but today he was determined to see if Feliciano could remain faithful to the terms he had invited himself into—especially since they involved him becoming an entirely different person.

\--

Sure enough, the Beilschmidt house remained extremely quiet all day long, almost to the point where it started to bother Ludwig. Something was definitely wrong, alright—the skin on the back of his hand had been itching incessantly, causing him to rake his fingernails across it until red lines darted boldly from the pressure. He was able to get a good chunk of his work done, unbelievably, even as he had anticipated having more to do during the weekend as he figured Feliciano would be up in arms over the romantic holiday.

Unable to control his restless fidgeting, Ludwig groaned and set his work aside, standing up to stretch and see what his husband was up to. There was no way he was remaining totally silent, Ludwig rationalized to himself, expecting to find the Italian on the phone with his brother chatting away. Trudging through nearly every room in the house (normally Feliciano was easy to find due to the excessive amount of noise he made) Ludwig finally discovered him perched against the window in their small but cozy laundry room, reading a book of romantic poetry translated into Italian underneath a blanket that looked as if it had taken a small detour through the dryer before it found itself wrapped tenderly around Feliciano’s figure.

“What are you doing in the laundry room?” Ludwig questioned with an incredulous gaze, the only thing more shocking than finding Feliciano quiet being finding Feliciano quiet _and_ reading.

Looking up from the slightly bent pages of his book, Feliciano flashed his husband an adoring smile as he reached for another truffle in the chocolate box beside him. The couple’s dogs, Aster, Blackie, and Berlitz, all turned their attention to him simultaneously, having settled by his feet in the hopes of receiving a Valentine’s gift of their own.

Raising both eyebrows at Feliciano’s resolve, Ludwig shuffled his feet and paused for a second, wondering how he could get Feliciano to crack. “Well, it is nearly dinner time…would you like me to make dinner?”

Pushing some of his auburn hair away to tuck it behind his ear, Feliciano merely nodded in a singular motion before returning to the pages of his book, the dogs somewhat disappointed that they had yet to consume any chocolate. A bit dejectedly, Ludwig turned and left him for the kitchen, ignoring to rapid following of the dogs and silently wishing that Feliciano would be the one to trail after him as he normally did.

\--

Dinner was extremely quiet, the only sound being the clinking of silverware and the occasional scratching sounds the dogs made in the background. Feliciano munched away speechlessly, leaving Ludwig to merely stare at him and hardly touch his own plate. How could Feliciano—the most vocal, animated, bubbly, downright annoying yet still charming man in the entire European continent if not the entire world, last an entire day without so much as a nod here and there? At first it blew Ludwig’s mind, but several hours in it began to thoroughly freak him out. His hand had yet to stop itching, even when he applied a light cream to it, so all he could think to do was to stare at Feliciano in the hope that he would soon speak again. He had even made pasta, despite having control of the kitchen for the night; Feliciano’s favorite, pasta Bolognese. He looked happy when he saw it sitting at the table, but he did nothing more than dart over towards the table and set himself eagerly to the task of eating. It was as if the world had turned on its axis.

“So,” Ludwig asked gruffly, clearing his throat a bit as he too was not used to remaining so silent, “do you like the meal?”

Feliciano nodded with a content expression as he swirled a sampling of noodles on his fork, popping the utensil in his mouth as Ludwig nearly snapped his own in half.

“The flowers look nice. You picked very lovely ones this year.”

Ludwig could feel Feliciano bounce his feet up lightly under the table in response, although he still refused to say a word.

“You want to watch a movie after dinner? You can pick which one.”

Still, nothing. Incredibly, the silence seemed to infuriate Ludwig more than the never-ending chatter. Was it possible that he actually enjoyed his husband’s constant affection? Impossible, he tried to reason with himself; at its best, Feliciano’s clinginess was a distraction that made it difficult for him to complete work on time. But still, having someone hanging off his arm for most of the day, hugging and kissing him and uttering words of casual intimacy into his ear always made even the worst of days one hundred times better; glancing at his itching hand once more, his wedding ring shone brightly in the light of the dining room lamp, reminding him of everything it meant in the first place.

“Feliciano,” Ludwig spoke clearly, commanding the Italian’s attention at once although he still remained mute, “I changed my mind, actually…I would like something else for Valentine’s Day.”

Twirling his fork against his lips in an expression of surprise, Feliciano kept quiet, but he appeared to be listening. Ludwig suddenly wondered if he would regret wasting his only chance at peace later, but one last look at the ring told him that he clearly would not.

“I would like for you and I…to spend the rest of the night together, cuddling and, er, being affectionate, and all of that. And, well, _ja_ …” Ludwig mumbled towards the end with a slight blush, finding it somewhat humiliating to have to ask for the attention that he was nearly always given.

Brightening up like a fresh strand of lights on a Christmas tree that had just been plugged in, Feliciano jumped up from his seat and nearly pummeled Ludwig to the ground by jumping into his lap. “Aww, really? How cute! Oh Ludwig, of course I’ll cuddle and love up on you!” he practically cooed, nuzzling against the German’s neck with a joyful laugh.

Ludwig tried to disguise the sigh of relief he breathed as a noise of contentment, letting a smile work its way onto his face with a glint of pride. Perhaps he had squandered his one chance at solitude, but what did it matter? With a loving pile of Italian in his lap, he was nearly sure that he could survive another year of Feliciano’s antics for this.

\--

If Ludwig had to describe heaven, it would possibly be exactly where he was at that moment: his husband lovingly entangled in his arms, the blankets wrapped around them in a comfortable embrace, the dogs at the end of the bed drowsily napping, and a cold beer by the bedside table. Nothing, not even a day to focus on work without Feliciano, was better than this.

Leaning down to disturb his peaceful thoughts with another kiss, Feliciano brought their lips together once more, having been casually making out with his husband for the past hour or so in a relaxing cuddling position. Ludwig kissed him back happily, his nerves calmed by the immense bliss he felt overtake his body as he noticed his hand had finally stopped bothering him so much.

Feliciano pulled back mere inches from the kiss, leaving a small intangible trail of their mixed saliva between them. Giggling ever so slightly so as not to break the string, he gripped Ludwig’s face with strong, confident hands and pressed another tender kiss to his minutely chapped lips, releasing a delighted moan when Ludwig kissed back ever so fervently, pushing his tongue past Feliciano’s baby soft lips to deepen it with passion.

When Feliciano finally pulled away to get in a bit of air, he brushed a stray tuft of blond hair to the side of Ludwig’s face with a bright smile and leaned his elbows on Ludwig’s broad chest to face him directly. “I can’t believe you knew exactly what I wanted for Valentine’s Day without me even having to tell you!”

“I did?” Ludwig tried not to sound surprised, gazing into Feliciano’s hazel-colored eyes as if he were a masterpiece painting done by one of the Renaissance greats. It was the enchanting look that caused Feliciano’s cheeks to flush with vibrant color as his lips split in another painful-looking smile.

“Of course you did! You knew that all I wanted was to be with you…you’re such a mind-reader, Ludwig! You know exactly what’s on my mind no matter what!”

Ludwig refused to inform him that that was because Feliciano usually just told him everything that was on his mind, instead choosing to relish in the moment. “ _Ja_ , well, you know… _ich liebe dich_ , Feli.”

Pressing multiple swarms of kisses all over Ludwig’s masculine face, causing the German to stifle a laugh at the slight ticklishness of areas like the bridge of his nose, Feliciano erupted into a sea of affection, laughing cheerfully as he felt Ludwig’s muscular arms wrap tighter around his more delicate frame. “ _Ti amo, ti amo, ti amo, non potrò mai smettere d’amarti!”_

Hearing the loving words flow so easily from the Italian’s mouth was all Ludwig needed to wash away the twinges of pain he had felt in his heart earlier, when Feliciano’s distance had made him realize just how much he valued his husband—no matter how loud he could be. With a growing smirk, Ludwig took these feelings into mind as he used his immense strength to flip the two of them over like an omelet, leaving Ludwig to loom above Feliciano whom he now had pinned into the bed. Feliciano let out a slight yell of surprise at the sudden motion, but was quick to forget his shock once Ludwig pressed a passionate kiss firmly to his lips, trailing a hand down to make delicate circles on the inside of his thigh, causing the Italian to let out a tremor of pleasure in response.

“ _Und mir, du, meine Schätzchen,_ ” Ludwig lulled back just as soothingly, although his attention had now moved to a different subject. Feliciano followed along easily, pressing up into the German’s touch with a yearning for more, leaving Ludwig make to quick work of the buttons on Feliciano’s night shirt with eager impatience.

That night, Feliciano was anything but silent. And Ludwig decided that he didn’t mind one bit.

_END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few translation notes:  
> Reder Eglenougat Schokolade is a brand of hazelnut nougat chocolate bars from Germany. Ferrara Torrones are a brand of nougat chocolate candies from Italy.  
> Non potrò mai smettere d’amarti: I could never stop loving you.  
> Und mir, du, meine Schätzchen: And me, you, my darling.  
> Also apprarently I made Ludwig allergic to a lack of Feliciano, lol. True love, right?
> 
> Until next time,  
> Emmy


	2. Te Amo, Lovi/Ti Amo, Bastardo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next on the list is South Italy/Spain. In this story, the two have been in a relationship for over a year. Enjoy!

A little girl with cotton-candy smattered cheeks and bouncing strawberry-blond pigtails bounded across the fairgrounds, screaming incoherently about a stuffed animal at a booth she just had to have. A group of teenagers stood huddled around the concession stand, counting the money between them to see if they had enough money to go in on a plate of nachos. An elderly couple sat shoulder to shoulder on a bench near the outskirts, watching the crowds flutter around with a tenderness that seemed to remind them of their own younger days. And amidst it all stood an Italian man with a scowl the size of Sicily on his face, hoping if he stood there for long enough he would sink into the ground and disappear.

Lovino had never really cared for Valentine’s Day. The best thing about it was the massive amount of unbought candy that went on sale the day afterwards. Most years he spent the holiday blissfully single, cocooned in bed and watching his soap dramas like he normally did. But this was a year of firsts: it was the first year since his local grocer stopped selling his favorite candy, the first year since his favorite soap had been cancelled, and the first year he had been dating Antonio, the gleeful Spaniard who had been asking him out since the moment he met him in elementary school.

Before he could even pause to reminisce about the way Antonio used to harass him on the daily, following the irritable Lovino home claiming he wanted to ‘walk with him to make sure he was safe, of course!’, the man himself pranced gaily towards his Italian lover, waving around a bunch of tickets as if they were thousand-dollar bills. “Lovi, aren’t you so excited to be at the fair for Valentine’s Day? We’re going to have so much fun, I just can’t wait!”

“ _Mio dio,_ you bastard, we haven’t even stepped into the fucking place yet and you’re already shitting yourself. If you have a heart attack in here, I’m leaving without you, got it?”

“You got it, _mi amor!_ ” Antonio chirped back at him with an unwavering smile, grabbing Lovino’s slightly tanned hand and dragging him inside the people-filled hell that Lovino dubbed the Valentine’s Day fair. Whose brilliant idea was it to shove a bunch of fat tourists into a tight outdoor space with only limited portable bathrooms dotting the perimeter?

But Antonio wanted to go with the enthusiasm of a child on the night before their birthday, so Lovino relented in the name of love. He had never been good at this whole love thing; besides never having a significant other until he finally gave Antonio a chance, he had never been particularly good at dealing with people who showed him attention, choosing to insult the vast majority of potential lovers. Love was a foreign emotion, a taboo subject that was known to Lovino only through his younger brother Feliciano, who had love for everything from his childhood stuffed animals to the damned German he met in the village one day. For a long time, Lovino assumed his heart would remain frozen forever—until Antonio slowly managed to melt it.  

“See that?” the Spaniard suddenly pointed up towards the sky, directing Lovino’s attention towards the towering Ferris wheel that looked even more terrifying from where they stood. “We’re gonna go on that a whole bunch.”

“In your dreams, bastard. Ferris wheels are stupid,” Lovino said a bit too aggressively, purposely trying to sound undeterred and confident as he was too afraid to reveal he was petrified of heights.

“Okay, Lovi. Look, let’s do that!” Antonio pointed ever eagerly towards a ‘Test Your Strength’ booth, where one had to knock over a pile of weighted bottles to win a stuffed plush prize. Rolling up his sleeves in anticipation, Antonio shuffled over to the front before Lovino could bother to stop him, releasing a sigh he felt he would repeat several times before the day was over.

With a teasing smile, Antonio handed over a bunch of tickets to the man in charge and flashed a teasing smile at his boyfriend. “You want to go first? I’m probably going to knock them down on the first try, so I’ll let you take a shot before me!”

Groaning at Antonio’s cocky comment, Lovino grabbed a ball with fierce determination and swung hard at the collection of bottles, flinching in slight shock when the bottles didn’t even sway. He tried again, and a third time, both with no result.

Antonio, right on cue, was able to knock down all three bottles on the very first try. Lovino directed an incredulous glance towards his boyfriend as he attempted to hide the dumbfounded look that quickly splattered itself across his face. “What the hell?”

“I told you I’d get it on the first try! What stuffie should I get? I think I like the turtle one best…”

Shoving another bunch of tickets towards the counter with unreserved irritation, Lovino resolved not to be beaten so easily. “It was just luck, you _testa di cazzo_! I can do it just as easily!” He then proceeded to once again fail to knock down the towers of bottles, losing a small amount of his patience each time the ball hit the ground with a resounding thud.

“ _Mi cariño_ , it’s okay if you can’t do it! It’s a rigged game anyway!” Antonio giggled lightly from behind the confines of his new stuffed turtle, watching Lovino overexert himself and begin to flare red like the little tomato Antonio knew he was.

“Shut up, _bastardo!_ ” Lovino yelled as he gave up even more of his tickets, compelled to not leave the booth until he had knocked down at least one bottle. Five minutes later and nearly half of their tickets total, Lovino was panting like a dog as he continued, to no avail, to try and knock down the bottles that seemed to taunt him from afar. Growing more and more agitated with the passing seconds, he looked nearly ready to either pass out from anger or assault someone in the close vicinity, prompting Antonio to swiftly grab his hand and pull him fast away from the booth where he was making quite the scene.

“Let’s do something else, Lovi…what about getting our fortunes read over there? That looks fun!” he redirected smoothly, ignoring Lovino’s frustrated cries to pull him into the mysterious tent adorned with hearts that read ‘ _L’amour_ ’ on the outside of it.

If Lovino was mad after losing at the game, what he saw now absolutely enraged him. Sitting far too comfortably in an oversized red velour chair was Francis Bonnefoy, Antonio’s good friend from college—and Lovino’s least favorite of Antonio’s cohorts. Francis was vulgar, he smelled like cheese, and every time he and Antonio got together—usually along wither their German friend Gilbert, who was equally obscene—they went out and got drunk, leaving Antonio to blow up Lovino’s phone with embarrassingly whiny calls until the Spaniard somehow made it to his boyfriend’s doorstep, begging to be let in like the dog he was.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , it cannot be! Toni and Lovi, come to visit me on this great day of love, what luck I do have!” The Frenchman shouted gleefully, immediately rising to greet Antonio with kisses doled out cordially on both of his cheeks. Lovino turned to the side to avoid such treatment, contemplating making a run for it while he still had the chance.

“Francis, I can’t believe you’re here! Shouldn’t you be spending time with Matthew? It’s your favorite holiday!”

“ _Mon petit chou_ is off roaming the fair…you know, he blends in so easily in large groups of people, I am sure he is having a good time. But you are not here to talk about my love life, you’re here to learn about your own fortune! Please sit, and I shall reveal all the secrets of your future together!"

Antonio was easily coaxed, following Francis over to the table adorned with small porcelain figures of naked Cupids dressed appropriately by coordinated stacks of candy hearts. Lovino only followed once he saw the puppy-dog expression plastered on Antonio’s face, finally figuring that if he was to get any better at this love thing, he must as well listen to what the pervert frog had to say.

Reaching tenderly for Antonio’s hand, calloused from years of hard work in the tomato fields, Francis began to run his fingertips over the forming creases and lines, his eyebrow jerking in a motion of intense thought. Lovino rolled his eyes and crossed his arms defensively, trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever load of bullshit Francis was sure to feed his gullible lover.

“Just as I thought! Antonio, your blood runs deep with passion, making you a natural-born lover…it’s clear to me based on your palm that you are caring, affectionate, and will never have any problems in the bedroom. You will most certainly marry the love of your life and have a large family, all who will take after their father in looks and charm!”

Clapping happily to himself, Antonio laughed and shot Lovino an adoring look. “Can you believe it, Lovi? We’re going to get married and have lots of babies together!”

“Not so fast, Toni—I never said Lovino was your true love! I’ll have to look at him first before I make my judgement.” Using this as his in, Francis then proceeded to grab Lovino’s hands before the Italian had any time to think of an excuse to squirm away. Nevertheless, the Italian had no problem muttering curse words under his breath as he attempted to resist Antonio’s expression of anticipation, sweating nervously as his palms were assaulted by the French bastard.

“Oh, _mon coeur_ …I seem to have bad news,” Francis remarked in a dreadfully dramatic tone, pretending to wipe away a tear with a fancy embroidered handkerchief he had suddenly pulled out of thin air. “It appears that your heart…is dead!”

“ _Che palle,_ are you stupid? My heart works just fine, thank yo-“

“WHAT?! My Lovi’s heart is dead? Oh Francis, is he going to be okay?”

“I do not know…it will take a large amount of work, if he is willing. Lovino, you need to be able to open yourself up to love, to allow yourself to believe in it, go outside of your comfort zone…otherwise, you are doomed to a life of solitude and a barren womb!”

“A barren womb? Oh no, Lovi! That means we can’t have children!”

“Have you ever considered the fact that we can’t have children because I’M A MAN, YOU IDIOT?!” Lovino screeched abruptly, ripping his hand away from Francis’ embrace and turning sharply to make his exit. “Come on, damnit, we’re going. And don’t pay this moron!”

Antonio followed in pursuit of his boyfriend seconds later, saying his goodbyes (and apologies) to Francis over his shoulder. Opening his mouth to ask Lovino what was so wrong, he was quickly interrupted as Lovino sent him a hate-filled glare and said, “Let’s just do something that doesn’t involve other people, okay?”

Reverting back to his normally cheerful self within seconds, Antonio nodded in agreement and gripped Lovino’s hand, pulling him towards an attraction labelled ‘Tunnel of Love’ with renewed excitement. “How about this one?”

Lovino paused to think about it, realizing that this actually seemed agreeable: a dark tunnel, only them together in a boat, yet still in public so he knew Antonio wouldn’t try anything. Giving a curt nod that could only be described as enthusiastic for someone of Lovino’s nature, the Italian allowed himself to be escorted into a boxy swan-shaped boat and sent down a dark, murky looking moat of ‘love’, as it was marketed.

In a trying measure, Antonio snaked an arm casually around Lovino’s waist, resting the plush turtle he had won between them to act as an acceptable barrier. Lovino allowed it, even leaning into the touch a little. Perhaps this whole love thing wasn’t so bad after all. Feliciano made it seem too easy, giving love away to anyone who paid him attention; Lovino wasn’t as readily won over. Feeling a slight blush creep onto his cheeks, he wondered to himself if what he was experiencing now—the feeling of peace as he sat next to Antonio, the only sounds around them being the calmly flowing water and the occasional flecks of couple’s voices traveling through the dimly-lit tunnel—was love. With a growing smile, he decided maybe it was.

There couldn’t have been a worse time for Antonio to suddenly decide to lean over for a kiss. Startled from his dazed state, Lovino instinctively backed away, which normally led Antonio to laugh and then pull him in tightly against his chest, but in a tiny boat floating down a cramped space, it caused them to tip over and fall directly into the unclean water. Lovino let out a shriek as he suddenly found himself drenched in the questionable fluid, causing everyone in the immediate vicinity to stare collectively at him and Antonio. Turning to face his Spaniard, who was less concerned about being wet and more interested in trying to find his stuffed turtle, Lovino could only manage to get out two words:

“YOU BASTARD!”

\--

It was only after they had gotten sufficiently cleaned up—dressed in clothes that Antonio kept in his car ‘just in case mi Lovi lets me spend the night at his place!’—and Antonio had his turtle replaced that Lovino said anything. From being pulled out of the mock-river by park security to the journey back to the car, he had remained deeply silent, allowing Antonio to fill in the gaps with innocent laughter and unassuming statements of how much of a great story this would make at their wedding someday.

“Just think about it, Lovi! First we’ll tell the story about the turtle and how you threw all those balls and then Francis will get up and talk about reading our palms and then we’ll end it with how we fell in the tunnel and got all soaking wet, _si_? Hahaha, it’s going to get so many laughs! Okay _mi amor_ , what do you want to do next?”

“Nothing,” came Lovino’s voice darkly, his head bowed towards the ground and his eyes squeezed closed as he anticipated Antonio’s immediate confusion.

Instead, he was met with aloofness. “What’s that, Lovi?”

“I said, I don’t want to do anything else here today! This whole day sucked! First of all I hate fairs, second of all I hate people, and third of all I hate Valentine’s Day and think it’s the stupidest holiday in existence, and I’m Catholic so that’s saying something! I lost at that stupid fucking game when you won on the first try and then we had to deal with fucking Francis who’s a giant jackass and then to top it all off we fell in a fucking cesspool of germs and gross shit in the fucking tunnel! This whole day has been a disaster and I just want to go home, alright?!”

Antonio’s face fell faster than a tower of blocks stacked only a little too high by an overenthusiastic toddler, the childish curiosity and wonder accompanying the sensation quickly dissipating along with it. Shuffling awkwardly, almost unsure of what to do with his limbs now hanging limply at his sides, he coughed out weakly, “Oh. Well…Lovino, I’m sorry, I guess I just thought…well, never mind then. Let’s get you home and call it a night, okay?”

Although the frown refused to budge from his face, Lovino caught his facial muscles relaxing in their tense state as his mind registered the sudden shift in Antonio’s mood. He hadn’t ever planned to ruin Lovino’s day, after all—he had just wanted them to have fun. The ball toss, Francis, the boat—those were all innocent mistakes. Antonio was trying in the best way he knew to give Lovino a day he could remember; to let him know that he loved him.

“Wait, Tonio,” Lovino said in soft defiance as he took Antonio’s hand, stopping him from advancing any farther towards the car. He looked into Antonio’s eyes—chartreuse green, like the first grasses popping up to say hello to the world after the cold, harsh winter—and felt all the frustrations and mishaps of the day disappear, giving way to a state of tranquility that allowed him to speak his next words with clarity. “Well, we can’t leave yet. We haven’t…we haven’t gone on the Ferris wheel.”

Examining Lovino’s changed expression with mounting interest—after all, Antonio had known him for a very long time, and it was rare to see him soften, even momentarily—Antonio’s ever-present smile crept quickly back onto his face, allowing his happiness to immediately regenerate. “Really, Lovi?”

“Yes, really, _bastardo_. Now let’s go before I change my damn mind!”

As he was now being dragged off by his overgrown-child of a boyfriend, Lovino realized he felt no regret at having squandered his only chance at an early exit from the dumb fair, even as he remembered once more that he was afraid of heights—sometimes, you had to make sacrifices for the one you loved.

\--

“Antonio, stop moving around so much, you’re jostling the fucking cart!” Lovino complained with a slight yelp in his voice, ignoring his disdain for public displays of affection as he gripped tightly on to Antonio’s arm and shivered at the sight of all the people below them, appearing as miniscule as the dots of cities on a map.

Trying to suppress a twinge of laughter, Antonio merely wrapped an arm protectively around Lovino’s frame, hoping to lessen his worries even if only minutely. “Lovi, are you afraid of heights? Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“Yeah, right! I’m not afraid of—OH MY GOD ARE WE GOING UP HIGHER? I SWEAR IF HE STOPS IT AT THE VERY TOP I’M GOING TO--!” Lovino yelled without restraint, giving up on the high and mighty act he initially thought he could pull off once he psyched himself up to get on the ride in the first place. He tried desperately to ignore Antonio’s judgmental gaze, knowing that his opinion of Lovino must have been diminishing by the minute.

Instead, the Spaniard leaned down to press a soft, barely there kiss to the inner corner of Lovino’s ear, whispering, “ _Te adoro, Lovino. Eres el amor de mi vida_.”

Lovino blushed in response, feeling his heart flutter with pangs of anxiety mixed with utter happiness. Fighting the urge to respond with a cheap insult, he quietly responded, “ _Ti amo molto, bastardo. Ora, dammi un bacio_.”

Taking the invitation without a second’s delay, Antonio tilted his face down slightly to capture Lovino’s lips in a passionate kiss, causing the Italian to let out a soft moan before restraining himself from fully making out with Antonio in a public place. As he pulled his boyfriend in closer, not caring much if the people below them could see, Lovino forgot about the struggles of the day and the lingering smell of chlorine from the water and even the frightening feeling of being up so high, his mind turning only to one thing—love. Love had erased all of his problems, even if only temporarily, and given him something to hold on to, something that had meaning: Antonio. And Antonio, Lovino relented with a small smile, was worth touching the clouds for.

  _END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few translation notes:  
> Testa di cazzo: dickhead. Such profanity, I know!  
> Te adoro, Lovino. Eres el amor de mi vida: I adore you, Lovino. You are the love of my life.  
> Ti amo molto, bastardo. Ora, dammi un bacio: I love you a lot, bastard. Now, gimme a kiss!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. I Love You, Artie/Love You Too, Al

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> USUK is next! I had a lot of fun writing this one. In this story, Alfred and Arthur are newly engaged.
> 
> Please also be warned that this fic depicts a (legal) age gap relationship. If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, I would encourage you not to read any further. 
> 
> Otherwise, please enjoy!

A slight breeze passed through Arthur’s body, eliciting a sharp reaction from the man as he traversed the streets of London with relative ease. Either it was simply getting colder outside or he was just growing older and his bones were becoming more sensitive to the ides of the season.

As he lifted his right arm half-heartedly to push several wayward strands of ashy-blond hair to the side, attempting to convince himself a haircut could wait just a few more days as he surely knew his hair dresser would be booked full this close to the romantic holiday, Arthur caught sight of his ring which shone brightly in the warming efforts of the February sun. Without even trying to resist the smirk that crawled onto his face, he thought suddenly of Alfred, the bloody fool that he was, who went to all that trouble trying to get the thing in the first place.

_“What do you mean, you maxxed out your credit card AGAIN?” Arthur nearly yelled at the man across from him eating Cap’n Crunch cereal out of a mug, as he had failed to do the dishes once more. The Briton had taken on the task of getting Alfred’s finances into shape shortly after he learned Alfred was being pursued by a collection agency for failure to pay a car insurance claim, after he had dinged the side of a McDonald’s drive-thru building in a mad panic to eat his burger as soon as it was handed to him. It was scenarios like these that caused Arthur to question their entire relationship, really._

_“Babe, I didn’t mean to! I just…you know, I had to!” Alfred whined from between slurps of cereal milk, ignoring the dribbles he sent flying onto the open newspaper, turned obviously to the comics section._

_“For God’s sake man, get a napkin or something, you’re spilling all over the place. Now Alfred, you live in a modestly-priced rent controlled apartment, which is a Godsend for a city like New York, you have enough for what you consider to be groceries aka rubbish processed sugary crap and hamburgers, and anything else is divided between savings, retirement, and spending money for the month—what on earth could possibly be so important that it caused you to blow your savings account to pieces, withdraw from your retirement fund, AND still maxx out your card?”_

_“It was your ring!” Alfred exclaimed in an exasperated tone, feeling his cheeks flare red with embarrassment at having to admit the truth to the man himself._

_Astounded, Arthur sat back in the plastic chair that Alfred deemed an acceptable dining room fixture and glanced at the fancy piece of jewelry he had been sporting as of late. “The…the ring? What are you…”_

_“When we were talking a while ago, I remember, I remember you said something like, ‘If I ever get married at all, the bloke’s going to have to propose with a pure silver band with diamonds encrusted in it’ and blah blah blah something else in your limey voice, you know, and I thought that if I proposed with something crappier you wouldn’t accept it and I know that we’re on really different social levels and you make a bunch more money than I do and I know you think I’m just a stupid kid but one day I swear I’m gonna make so much money that you’ll never have to work again, I promise Artie, one day I’ll give you everything you could ever want! But for now all I can do is promise American Express that I’ll pay them back…eventually.”_

_“Oh, you big sap,” Arthur sighed as he stood up to saunter over to his fiancé, pressing a firm and loving kiss on the top of his moppy bed head as he rested his weary arms across Alfred’s broad shoulders. “Like it would mean any less what the band was made of…I was just being cheeky with you, that was all. I couldn’t care a bit how much money you make, and please don’t ever make it a personal goal to provide for me…I rather enjoy my job for the most part. I just want you to be happy and successful on your own terms.”_

_“As long as I have you, I’m both happy and successful!”_

Alfred’s cheery words rang out loud and clear in Arthur’s head at the moment, almost enough to convince him that Alfred was right beside him yelling like an idiot for the entire world to hear. Alas, Alfred was not going to be joining him for Valentine’s Day this year—plane tickets were expensive, after all, and Alfred’s budget had been widely fluctuating as he found himself between temp jobs more and more recently, and Arthur had already taken too many personal days to fly in and see his love. Arthur sighed to himself as he paused for a moment, taking out his phone to admire the picture of the two of them that appeared each time the screen came to life; sure, they were going to have their own Skype date later that night and all, but it wasn’t the same as if Alfred were there in person. It had been a few months since they had seen each other—he had to reckon that the last time was the exact moment he had just been thinking of, when he came to visit Alfred when his job called for him to spend the weekend in New York.

Lost in his depression for a moment, Arthur looked up to notice what he was standing in front of: the ice cream shop where they had first met. The décor surrounding the shop was cutesy and retro, and Arthur managed a chuckle for finding himself at such an establishment in the first place. The moment he met Alfred was unforgettable, to say the least:

_“You bloody wanker, watch where you’re going! You got caramel sauce all over my overcoat!”_

_“Overcoat? That just looks like an ordinary coat to me…” the American responded as he proceeded to shovel another spoonful of the obnoxious-looking concoction of what Arthur could only hope was ice cream mixed with various toppings down his throat._

_Making no attempt to shelve the look of disgust that was creeping onto his face, Arthur quickly rolled his eyes and frowned at the idiot before him, wondering what part of the stupid former colonies he came from. “This is Burberry, I’ll have you know. I suppose you have absolutely no idea the value of what you’ve just ruined, do you?”_

_“I’m so sorry man, I didn’t mean to bump into you! Can I like, write you a check for the dry-cleaning bill or something? How’s a tenner sound?”_

_“Are you out of your mind? This is a £1,460 coat we’re talking about here, not some grab and go piece of rubbish you’d pick up from Tesco or what have you!”_

_As the math slowly began to work itself out in his mind, the American’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as a droplet of his sticky ice cream dribbled down to his feet. “2000 DOLLARS? Holy shit, dude, are you related to the Queen or something? I don’t have that much money! The only reason I get to study abroad at all is because I’m on a Gilman!”_

_Arthur’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise as he took an instinctive step backwards. “How bloody old are you, anyway?”_

_Flashing a toothy grin that’s enthusiasm seemed to answer its own question, Alfred replied, “I’m 20, which means I can’t drink back home, but I sure as hell can drink over here! How ‘bout yourself?”_

_Slightly embarrassed at the realization that he was a good deal older than the man (or was he still considered a boy at this age?) in front of him, Arthur withdrew a bit before mumbling, “I…I’ll turn 30 this May.”_

_Seemingly undeterred, the American continued to smile as he tugged on the sleeve of his bomber jacket as a force of habit. “Well gee, bro, I’m really sorry about your fancy coat…I may not be able to pay you back for it and all, but maybe I could make it up to you by sharing a banana split with ya? My treat?”_

_Suddenly becoming flustered as his brazen implications, Arthur managed to stutter, “B-but, you just had ice cream!”_

_“My stomach’s always ready for round two!” Boldly, he reached out and grabbed Arthur’s hand, pulling them towards the back of the line without ever dropping his infectious smile._

_“Well, wait just a moment, now! Is this some kind of a date?”_

_“Let me see…what’s your name?”_

_“I’m…I’m Arthur Kirkland.”_

_“Nice to meet ya, Artie, I’m Alfred Jones. Now that we’ve been introduced…now it’s a date!”_

Arthur shook his head at the fond memory of Alfred’s slick maneuvering, realizing only now that the coat he was wearing at the time was still shoved in the back of his closet, as it now held too much sentimental value to get rid of it despite its large, unappealing stain. Continuing on his walk back to his flat, he traveled with a renewed energy, the memories hitting him harder on the day of universal love.

Now that they were engaged, Alfred was probably going to move to London and live with him. Arthur had no real problem with this—obviously, he wasn’t complaining about getting to wake up next to his sweet every morning—but he knew Alfred was struggling with the idea of having to leave his beloved city of New York. He was complaining constantly about the lack of McDonald’s that delivered whenever he came to visit, and he couldn’t stand the fact that everyone drove ‘on the wrong side of the road’. There was a part of Arthur that worried that Alfred would get cold feet and decide he wouldn’t be able to go through with the move, and as much as Arthur had been hanging on for the past few months, he knew that he couldn’t do the long distance thing forever. It was already hard enough as it was, with the long nights Arthur spent alone in bed, his body nearly aching for Alfred to be beside him. He didn’t sleep nearly as well when Alfred wasn’t around; after almost six years of the back and forth, the phone calls and text messages, the always too-short visits and the inevitable jet lag that followed, Arthur knew he didn’t want to spend another moment without his love.

Stopping once more to wipe an escaping tear from the corner of his eye, trying to maintain his composure in the public setting, Arthur noticed that he was once more in familiar territory. There was the park where they once shared yet another pivotal moment in their relationship:

_It was a sweltering 32 C outside, with Arthur finding himself constantly grumbling under his breath about how dreadful the heat was. Alfred seemed to take it in stride, running about as if the sun wasn’t beating down on them from above. Arthur, meanwhile, was straggling behind him, his mind weighed down by much more than just the unbearable heat overtaking his senses._

_He had recently taken Alfred to a work function as his plus-one, secretly looking forward to being able to introduce the man he called his true love to all his smarmy coworkers, many of whom were in unstable, unsatisfying relationships. When he showed Alfred around like his prized blue-ribbon pooch, however, he found many of them shooting him uneasy looks, almost desperate to get out of talking to the pair. Arthur initially chalked it up to Alfred’s lack of manners, watching in horror as the American scarfed down as many hors d’oeuvres as he could possibly get his hands on, but his suspicions were silenced when he overheard someone in the bathroom gossip to another cohort, “Have you seen Kirkland and his cabin boy? What’s his name again, Lolita?”_

_Needless to say, despite the fact that Arthur could care less about the opinions of his idiotic coworkers, the realization that he and Alfred had a considerable age difference between them was becoming more and more worrisome to the Brit. There was a part of him that wondered if he was holding Alfred back from being able to do all the fun things young people were supposed to do; Arthur was too old to keep up with most of the activities Alfred wanted to do, and he was more ready to settle down and make a life for himself, doing things like buying a house and thinking about the possibility of children. These were things that at Alfred’s age, Arthur couldn’t imagine being tied down to—he didn’t want to be the one to force him into a life he wasn’t ready for._

_“Babe? You’re awfully quiet today. Everything alright?” The American was suddenly at his side, taking hold of his hand and interlacing their fingers before Arthur could muster the strength to pull away in a self-deprecating manner._

_“Oh, it’s quite alright…just rather muggy, you know…” he responded lamely, turning his gaze slightly away from Alfred to avoid having to look into his clear blue eyes and face the truth of his mixed feelings and mounting nervousness that kept manifesting itself as rapid attacks of breathlessness that left Arthur gasping on the bathroom floor—all of this away from Alfred, of course._

_“…and you’re quiet again. Seriously, what’s up? Did I do something wrong?”_

_Breathing out a slight laugh that sounded almost painful, Arthur muttered sarcastically, “Just that you were born a few years too late, that’s all.”_

_Alfred heard him and took the comment as an insult, replying back, “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t like me or something?”_

_Breaking down in a depleted sigh that was equally related to the all-consuming heat and his increasingly fragile emotions, Arthur unintentionally yelled back, “Damnit, Alfred, that’s exactly the problem! I like you too much!”_

_Shooting him a glance somewhere between upset and confused, Alfred retorted, “And that’s a problem how…?”_

_“Because I’m not right for you,” Arthur struggled to say as he felt a lump arise in his throat, his heart throbbing almost painfully against his chest. “You’re too young, Al. You’re far too young for an old tosser like me! I love you so much, you have no idea…and I can’t sleep at night sometimes, I have trouble breathing, with the hyperventilating and all that, you know, sometimes it makes me so nauseous I can’t eat for hours on end…I love you so bloody much, but it’s not right for me to keep you. You deserve to be young and go out all the time and get hammered and travel and blow all your money like young people do…but I can’t live that life anymore. I’m…I have to be an adult, and face the reality that I’m getting older, and I have to settle down…and you’re not ready to settle down yet. So it’s not fair. It’s not fair that you…if only we were…oh bollocks, I’m feeling one of these attacks coming on again, Christ almighty…”_

_Putting his hands firmly on Arthur’s shoulders as if to steady him into the ground, Alfred looked at his love, who was only slightly shorter than himself, straight in his emerald green eyes to attempt to get the man to calm down. Arthur’s breath kept catching itself in little shocks, and his eyes were a bit watery, but he slowly seemed to come back to earth, placing a hand on Alfred’s arm to try and lessen his sudden dizziness._

_“Arthur,” the American started calmly, commanding the attention of his distressed love, “I want you to know that I one hundred percent choose to be in this relationship, every single day, and I always have, and I always will. There’s never been a day where I’ve ever felt as if being with you was a burden on me…in fact, you make me want to be a better person. You’re so much more mature than I am, which, let’s face it, isn’t exactly a terrible thing when it comes to a person as sloppy and fun-loving as I am…and I know you’re worried that I’m going to regret settling down so early, and I hear you, but honestly, the thought of doing anything as long as you’re by my side makes everything seem like a blast. I’m not afraid of ‘losing the best years of my life’ or whatever they say because with you by my side, I’m not losing anything…I’m only gaining. And if you want to have a future with me…you know, whatever that means for us, whether that’s moving in together or getting married or adopting kids or something…then I’m game. As long as it’s you and me…that’s all that matters.”_

_Arthur tried desperately to deny the fact that he was now crying in a public park as he hid his face in Alfred’s shoulder. “Oh, poppet,” he breathed softly, his tears obstructing his tone and making him appear much more fragile than he really was._

_“And Artie? I want you to see a doctor…it sounds like you might have an anxiety disorder. Which isn’t a bad thing, really, my bro Matt had a lot of trouble with anxiety when we were younger, but he’s doing a lot better now. It’s really treatable.”_

And so it was, Arthur concluded as he passed by the exact spot where he had broken down, as the memory reminded him to order a refill for his prescription soon. He added the note to his mental to-do list as he sullied forth, determined to get home before more memories of Alfred made him feel depressed that they were spending the day apart.

He was nearly there, too, before he was apprehended by a frazzled looking tourist who had a map spread apart openly in her hands. “Excuse me, sir, do you know the way to Buckingham Palace?”

“This is the wrong way entirely…it’s over in Westminster. There’s a bus station three blocks down, if that helps at all.”

Rushing off with a hurried thank you, the tourist soon departed and left him alone once more as another memory came to the forefront of his mind, causing him to break into a wide smile as the scene played out before him:

_Arthur hadn’t the slightest idea why the buffoon had dragged him out of bed this early just to go to the Palace. He himself had been only a hundred times, having grown up in London and passing by it quite frequently, and he had taken Alfred once when the American demanded an ‘authentic British tour by a real limey’. It wasn’t really that exciting from the outside, unless it was during one of the guard ceremonies or unless it was the Royal Wedding, but that day had passed and the throbs of foreigners had left his country henceforth._

_“Honestly Al, it’s barely even light out yet…why did you insist on coming out here so early?” Arthur yawned without concern for how unpleasant he must’ve looked, considering it too early for anyone to appear put together in any sense._

_“Well, if you’d stop closing your eyes and look over there, maybe you’d see why!”_

_Sighing in compliance with the request, Arthur turned reluctantly to gaze up at the sky and found the sight almost too beautiful to believe. The canvas before him was like a plethora of melting crayon waxes, blues, greens, and purples stretching out just as lazily as most of the residents of the city. Arthur had to admit, now that it wasn’t peak visiting hours, the palace had a certain calmness to it, one that instilled a sense of hope and pride in his country and himself; all was right in the world, and the magnificence of the structure against the backdrop of the Renaissance sky was all he could ever ask for._

_“I suppose you were right, after all,” Arthur began with a laugh, pushing his hair away from his face as he slowly stretched in acceptance of being awake. “Now if only you would tell me why-“_

_As he turned around to face Alfred once more, everything became intensely surreal—the sky, the palace, life itself. Kneeling before him was Alfred, his legs trembling in uncharacteristic nervousness, a small black box opened to reveal what looked to be a gleaming silver ring._

_“Oh, my God,” Arthur barely whispered, his mind going blank at the events unfolding before him._

_Alfred helped to fill in the silence with actual words. “Artie—no, wait, I should use your full name, it’s more official. Arthur, you make me so happy, dude—oh, crap, you shouldn’t say dude in a proposal, and oh, fuck, I just said crap, and ugh, fucking shit! Okay, forget the speech. I love you, Arthur. I want to spend the rest of my life listening to you complain about the degrading quality of television nowadays and the price of the chocolate frogs at the grocery store and how Boris Johnson, whoever that is, looks like a potato. I want to make you happy, however I can…and I know I’m no Prince Will and you’re no Princess Kate, but…will you make me the luckiest SOB in London and marry me?”_

_“She’s not a Princess and they got engaged in Kenya, not in Buckingham—oh, forget it. I love you, you absolute wank,” Arthur laughed through his joyful tears as he leaned down to scoop Alfred into his arms and plant a kiss directly onto his lips, despite them being slightly chapped due to the cold morning weather. Alfred smiled widely as their lips met, kissing him back as an aching amount of happiness bloomed in his body, causing him to feel a slight tingling sensation from head to toe. Arthur could only kiss him over and over again, unable to express how happy he was in words alone: if Alfred was the luckiest SOB in London, than he was the luckiest SOB in the universe._

The memory left him feeling warm inside, acting as a deterrent against the chilling winds as he made the way to his modest flat, bounding up the cobblestone steps with a renewed desire to be inside surrounded by his electric blankets and a solid cuppa to boot. He failed to notice the fact that the lights were on, and that his door was unlocked; he was too entranced in the memory, which was keeping him aglow despite the fact that the day’s circumstances were less than ideal.

It was only once he was fully inside his living room and he smelled what appeared to be meat roasting in the kitchen that he woke up to his surroundings. “What in God’s name…?” he mumbled aloud, noticing that a few boxes lay haphazardly placed in his living room that he was certain he had never seen before.

Stepping into the dining room as he attempted to remember all the martial arts training he had received as a kid, Arthur had to literally pinch himself to prove that he was truly alive. There was Alfred, in the flesh, donning a silly ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron as he carried over a gargantuan pot roast over to the elaborately set table, complete with a proper table cloth and long-tapered candles. “It’s about time you got here! The food’s ready!”

Although part of him was not surprised at all that Alfred had managed to get into his house and cook an entire meal while he was away, his overwhelming bewilderment took center stage. “How on earth did you…what are you…why are you…what?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Artie! I thought I’d surprise you by poppin’ on over…but this time, um, for good.”

The implication didn’t quite register to Arthur despite his Oxford education. “What?” he asked again, his voice gratingly high.

“Well, I moved out of my apartment. And I bought a one-way ticket…so I was kinda hopin’ that, you know, the whole living together thing…well, I know it was something you wanted really badly. And I’m gonna miss New York for sure…and I know we shoulda talked about it first…but I just kinda went for it, you know?”

Dropping all social norms of greeting etiquette, Arthur rushed into Alfred’s arms like a bullet shot from a pistol, nearly knocking the muscular American to the floor. Once he found the words to speak once more, as he was overrun with bouts of ringing laughter, he said, “And you didn’t worry for a moment that ‘just going for it’ would be the wrong decision?”

Alfred flashed his signature smile and winked up at his lover, replying slyly, “Well, the way I see it, it worked for you…and you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Shaking his head in his raucous laughter, Arthur snuggled closer against his chest and fought the urge to stop smiling as it was becoming painful. “Alfred, my poppet, I adore you more and more with every passing day…even as I question your quite frankly asinine antics.”

With that, Alfred tugged gently on the Briton’s hair to encourage him to lean up, wasting no time to kiss him affectionately, lingering just a moment beyond what was considered an average kiss to suck gently on Arthur’s lower lip, causing the man to moan softly with lust. As he felt Alfred lift him up into his strong arms, knowing full well that the dinner he had just slaved over would have to be eaten cold, he thought simply of all the memories they had shared—from the mundane to the exponential ones—that made up the pieces of their life. With one more glance towards Alfred’s misplaced belongings, he couldn’t wait to see where their next destination would be.

_END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although there are no translation notes for this chapter, I have a bunch of little notes to add:  
> I never actually mention specific careers in this story, but in case you are curious, Arthur is a high-profile lawyer and Alfred majored in Media Studies (a fairly popular major amongst Americans, I know from experience) at a CUNY (City University of New York) school, but has struggled to find concrete work in his field (also common!)  
> At one point Alfred mentions that the only reason he was able to study in London was because of 'being on a Gilman'. To briefly explain American financial aid to you, if you fall under a certain income level (I believe it's fairly low, possibly less than $40,000 a year) you can qualify for what's called a Pell Grant to fund college expenses, and if you qualify for Pell Grants you qualify for what is known as a Gilman scholarship to fund study abroad experiences for low-income individuals. Basically the point I was trying to make was that Alfred and Arthur are on dramatically different social class levels.  
> Tesco is a grocery store in the UK and Burberry is a British designer brand.  
> A reference is made to Lolita, a novel by the great Vladimir Nabokov about a very unhealthy age gap relationship between a young girl who is manipulated by an older sexual deviant man.  
> Alfred's proposal has loads of Brit references: The television comment is in regard to the large amount of reality shows now found on the television, 'expensive chocolate frogs' are Freddo's, a candy that saw a large price increase in recent years, and Boris Johnson is the very...odd looking mayor of London.
> 
> Other than that, I hope my inclusion of Brit slang was halfway decent. Oh, and I have a major headcanon for Arthur calling Alfred 'Poppet'. Could you tell?  
> Thanks for reading!  
> -Emmy


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